


∴ h a l a m s h i r a l ∴

by ariiadne



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Marriage, Romance, Trespasser DLC, Wedding, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariiadne/pseuds/ariiadne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as I enjoyed the cutesy-corny proposal scene for Cullen and the Inquisitor in Trespasser, I couldn’t help but feel it felt a little out of character – especially for Cullen. Proposing in Orlais? At the Exalted Council? Did he really want to marry her that badly?</p><p>But then, I realized it might be something a little sadder than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	∴ h a l a m s h i r a l ∴

**Author's Note:**

> Halamshiral - an elvhen term meaning "the end of the journey"

_“What?”_ The word emerged as the offspring of a choke and a gasp, caught between pain and more _pain:_ the hopeful hopelessness, the joyless elation, the spark that ignited in her heart and dwindled and died in the pit of her stomach but fought, fizzled, nonetheless, to stay alive. The mabari wandered over to her side, sniffing her cape with great interest, nuzzling the cloth upwards, cold nose to hot skin, licking and licking as if there was a wound he could heal.

“I mean… will you… I had a plan, and… and there wasn’t a dog. But you were… it doesn’t matter.”

But it did matter. It mattered so much. He’d had a plan. _Had._ And he abandoned it so suddenly, so strangely, instead thinking it better to spring the idea in the shadow of the Exalted Council. It was as terrible of an idea as it was obvious.

“I’ve thought of little else, and I don’t need a plan. Only to know if you would…”

She was dying. He knew it. She knew it. And she knew he knew it, because the proud commander would otherwise never propose under such circumstances. It probably would have been outright sappy if he could have waited and done it how he wanted. Flowers, maybe. Alone, somewhere quiet. Meaningful. The only thing that wouldn’t change would be the stuttering, stammering. She took comfort in that thought.

But this was desperation. This was now or never. This was to avoid guilt and regret in the face of the unknown. He knew it. She knew it. And he knew she knew because she said yes.

“I would. Cullen, I will.” There was hesitation, however. Downcast eyes searching the paths in the cobblestone for some guidance, perhaps.

“What is it?” he asks with purposeful intention masked by the tender, airy tone of his voice. He didn’t have to ask. He knew the answer. They both did. But he _had_ to ask, as if he didn’t know. 

“Reciting vows to the Maker… that means nothing to me.” This was why he loved her – part of why he loved her so. This verbal game of back-and-forth knowing unknowingness. She was smart, clever. Many times she sat with him as he prayed, head lowered and eyes closed; and many other times he partook in her traditions, whether it be reading tea leaves or setting a small statue of Fen’Harel outside of his door for protection at her insistence. To ward off the bad spirits, she said – the same ones that had him praying in the first place. “But I know you…” Knew it did not bother him, that he did not care. But she had to say this anyway, just as he had to ask what was wrong. As much as the commander favored the honest and the forthright, he could not bring himself to be either in this situation.

“I want your promise to be true.”

  
  
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It was easy enough to find a dress at Halamshiral. She wore it well, despite it all. He could tell she felt uncomfortable, unsure. She had lost so much weight, her hair had thinned from falling out, and her exposed left hand trembled uncontrollably – gnarled and twisted as it was, the muscles in her arm so tight they could snap. No amount of powder could conceal the exhaustion painted all over her face. And yet, here she stood, daring to send him a small smile, bringing her hands to his with some effort.

“Just know… everything feels like it was worth fighting for.”

His hand grasped hers, quelling the tremors. It felt like they were saying goodbye. “It was.”

Maybe they were.


End file.
